Do We Call This a Christmas Miracle?
by Maddie
Summary: Scott had volunteered to take provisions to the line shacks along the northern border of Lancer. It was a simple task. Two days at most. But an unplanned encounter with a young Mexican woman and a drastic change in the weather suddenly made the simple task a life threatening ordeal.
1. Chapter 1

Turning up the collar of his jacket, Scott Lancer lowered his head into the sharp, biting wind. The bright warm sunshine of the early morning had vanished as dark grey clouds built in the northwest. The wind driven clouds scudded across the somber sky and an ominous heaviness weighted down the water laden horizon. Rapidly dropping temperatures promised a drenching downpour. It would be several hours before he was back at the hacienda and he had resigned himself to a thorough soaking before he arrived home. He suppressed a shiver as an icy gust knifed through the fabric of his trousers and bit the bare skin poking out at the cuffs of his sleeves. He was glad he had brought gloves, but wished he had added an extra layer beneath the rest of his clothing. Even though the morning had been crisp, the blue sky and sunshine had not suggested the need for more. California in mid- December was not the same as Boston where there was probably already a foot or more of snow. He had allowed the mildness of the early day to lull him into a false sense of security even though he knew how quickly weather could turn during the winter. Even here in California.

He urged his mount to a slightly faster walk. He had too far to travel to demand a more vigorous pace from his horse and the now unburdened pack animal he led at the end of a tether. Sighing, he pulled his hat further down over his forehead hoping to ward off the rain he could smell on the wind. If he was lucky, the temperature would not drop far enough to turn the rain into snow even at this higher elevation. Though a cold soaking might actually be worse. He had taken extra time securing the last line shack and as a result had started for home much later than he had planned. Murdoch would worry when he did not return in the time he had promised, but he hoped it would quickly be forgotten.

Nickering nervously, his horse began to sidestep, sensing the approaching storm. Scott spoke soothingly to the animal. The last thing he wanted was to be unseated by a spooked horse. Behind him the pack animal echoed the unease of his mount.

"And to think I could have spent a comfortable day working around the house," he said to the twitching animals. "You could be in your nice, warm, dry barn and I could be sitting in front of the fire with a cup of Teresa's coffee doing the weekly ledgers."

But that would mean Cipriano's nephew would be out here in the cold wind and right now Alexandro was needed at home with his very pregnant wife. Salina had twice miscarried and this third pregnancy had been long and difficult. She was due at any moment and even though it was normally Alexandro's responsibility to stock the northern line shacks with winter provisions, Murdoch was not going to order him away from his wife. So Scott had volunteered to take care of provisioning the shelters on the northern most borders of Lancer. It was a simple task, would only take two days, and at the time had seemed far preferable to balancing the books. Though, truth be told, as nervous as Alexandro was about his wife's impending delivery, Scott wondered how much help he would actually be to her. Like any other husband and soon to be first-time father, he would probably wear a hole in the floor pacing outside her room.

Scott smiled to himself and was so absorbed in his thoughts he could almost hear the cry of the newest member of Lancer's extended family. It was only when he heard the cry a second time that he sat straight in the saddle and pushed the brim of his hat back off his face. Straining his ears against the wail of the wind, he was certain he had imagined the infant's cry. Some trick of the wind moving through the trees would explain it. He shrugged, pulled his hat back down low over his face, hunkered into his jacket collar and urged his the sorrel forward.

Seconds later he stopped. He had not imagined it. And his ears were not playing tricks on him. He definitely heard the cry of an infant. A human infant. Not a bobcat or coyote or some bird crazy enough to be out in the weather. Twisting in the saddle he listened intently for the sound to repeat hoping he could determine the direction from which it came.

There it was faintly, off to the left. The sound caught between the steadily building roar of the wind gusts and the brief lulls. He knew the path he was following narrowed in that direction then forked into two separate paths. The path to the left led along the edge of a sharp vertical drop and the right hand fork lead towards the Lancer hacienda. When he reached the place where the road divided he strained to hear the phantom sound. The cry came again, broken this time, not by the wind, but by a weakening of the source. Urging his horse along the left fork, he studied the ground looking for any sign of tracks that might lead him to the infant. He wished he knew a fraction of what Johnny did about tracking. Studying the hard ground, he moved forward, praying the baby would cry once more. As he did the first cold splat of rain landed on the ground in front of him. Within minutes the rain was pounding a steady tattoo on the brim of his hat, his shoulders, and the road in front of him. Any sign left by whoever he was following would quickly be obliterated.

Scott was beginning to fear his pursuit was hopeless when he saw the first signs - crushed vegetation at the edge of the trail. Looking farther downhill, peering through the drumming rain, he could see other broken branches and scrapes where the grass had been torn away. Could a wagon or cart have left the path here? The road was barely wide enough to accommodate more than a small cart or buggy at this point and the downward slope of the hill angled sharply. Dismounting, he tied the two animals and began to descend the hill. Slipping and sliding on the quickly forming mud, catching at the broken vegetation to keep from falling he desperately hoped for any sign to lead him on. Then he heard the baby, its voice muffled and less distinct. Pushing forward he almost fell down the hill as he came to a sliding stop against the side of an overturned two-wheeled cart. Protruding from under the cart was the torso of a man, his head twisted at an impossible angle his eyes staring blindly into the rain. Even though he knew the man was certainly dead, Scott touched the icy flesh of the man's exposed neck to assure himself there was no pulse.

Carefully picking his way around the meager contents of the spilled cart, Scott scanned the thick brush for signs of another person. A soft groan caught his attention and he pulled away the brush to see a splash of red fabric peeking out from around a thick tree trunk. Two legs were exposed beneath the fabric. Scott slid the last few feet to the tree and knelt beside the woman leaning against it. She was a young girl, Mexican by her coloring and dress. Across her forehead was a deep gash, blood from which had covered half her face, her lower lip was swollen and a bruise was darkening along her jaw. Her left arm hung awkwardly at her side but cradled in her right arm, wrapped in her shawl was a tiny bundle which chose that moment to scream.

At the sound of her infant's strident voice the young woman's eyes opened. She hugged the bundle to her and shushed the child, talking in a cooing singsong voice. It was only then she seemed to realize Scott was there. She blinked owlishly, trying to focus on his face. For a moment she seemed surprised, but she showed no fear of this stranger.

"Don't be afraid," Scott said as he gently touched her arm. "I'm here to help you. I heard the baby crying and followed the sound." He was not even sure she could understand him, but hoped his tone would convey his concern.

"Por favor, Senior," she said in a rasping voice. "Please. Take my baby. Please." She struggled to hand the infant to Scott.

"I'm going to help both of you. Get you both out of here," he said firmly.

"No." The woman fell back against the tree, exhaustion leaching the color and expression from her face. "Too much blood. She came too fast. Too early." Her breath was a hiccoughing gasp. "Too much blood."

It was then Scott noticed the spreading stain soaking the fabric of the dark blue skirt she wore. It could only be blood and it _was_ too much.

The woman took a deep shuddering breath. "The donkey spooked. Mateo. My husband." she paused choking back a sob, rushing to tell her story. "Soon I will be with my Mateo. We will travel to heaven together. But my little one will not go."

Scott knew in his gut the woman would never survive the trip to Lancer. She seemed to sense the same. "Do you have family? Someone I can take her to?" Scott had very little time to ask questions.

The woman was weakening as she spoke, each word an effort. Shaking her head sadly she said, "No. No family. Only my Mateo. You must care for her."

It was becoming harder and harder for her to talk and Scott found himself bending close to hear her words. Scott swallowed the lump forming in his throat. Even as he admitted she was doomed, he was scheming how he could carry her back up the steep slope he had slid down and transport her back to Lancer. He was not going to leave this infant without parents, without the love of its mother. Not if he could help it.

"You rest. I'll get a rope and blankets to move you."

"No. No. Her name is Hermosa. Hermosa Beatriz Rivera Lopez." Once again the woman attempted to thrust the bundled infant into Scott's arms. "She _must_ live."

Scott knew the minute he accepted the infant, her mother would stop fighting. There was one thing he had to know before that happened. "When she asks me about her mother, what name shall I tell her?" he asked softly.

"Evita."

Slowly, reluctantly Scott slipped his arm under the bundle and lifted Hermosa from her mother's arm. The young woman silently mouthed 'Gracias', sighed deeply, and slumped sideways. Scott felt for her pulse and found nothing. The tiny infant in his arms wiggled. For a moment Scott knelt on the ground. The rain pounding down washed the blood from Evita's face. She was beautiful and so young. Much younger, he knew, than his own mother had been. He should bury her and Mateo. The thought of leaving them exposed to the elements disturbed him. But the chill rain was already soaking through his clothes. First he must honor Evita's dying wish and get himself and his charge to shelter as quickly as possible. Silently, he promised he would come back to bury them as soon as he could. He rose to his feet and quickly looked through the young couple's scattered belongings hoping to find something dry and warm in which to wrap the baby. There were two small carpet bags, one of which contained adult clothing. He grabbed a dry shawl and shirt. In the other was a baby's gown and second blanket.

Huddling in the meager shelter of the overturned cart, Scott quickly removed the sodden wrap that covered the baby. As he did, her tiny face, still covered with blood and mucus from her birth, twisted into a grimace. Her hands were balled into fists, arms held rigid to her sides. Her legs kicked outward and she opened her mouth to scream her indignity to the world. Despite his haste, some of the cold rain splatted against her body making her scream even louder. He knew the best way to keep her warm was against his own skin so he unbuttoned his clothing and slipped her naked body inside the front of his open shirt so she was cradled between the warmth of his chest and the fabric. Her little hands and feet felt like ice as he bundled the dry shawl around her and closed the front of his jacket. Using her father's shirt he fashioned a sling to hold her in position leaving his hands free to climb back to the top of the hill.

It would be a race to get her back to Lancer in the worsening storm. The last line shack was miles behind him and no other man made shelter between here and the hacienda. He had no choice but to head towards home. Glancing once more at the accident that had left Hermosa an orphan, he breathed a silent prayer before turning to the hill. "She's going to make it," he whispered to her deceased parents. "I'm sorry to keep her from you but she won't be seeing heaven for a long while if I can help it."

The slope he had descended in such haste required greater care to ascend. Scott carefully placed his feet, holding on to the brush and smaller trees, determined to stay upright. He dare not fall with his small burden. The child wiggling against him let him know she was still alive. Slowly, he pulled himself to the top of the slope and was relieved to see both his horses where he had tied them, though they had turned their rumps to the steadily driving wind. Talking softly to the animals he quickly mounted, grabbed the reins of the pack animal, turned and backtracked along the narrow path to the fork in the road he had passed earlier. As he rode the wind was at his back, but he knew when he turned towards the ranch house he would be riding into the full force of the storm.

There was no choice for it. He had to get the baby to safety as quickly as he could. As he approached the fork in the road he paused and pulled his bedroll from where it was tied behind his saddle. Wrapping the blanket around his shoulders and over the front of his jacket he hoped the wool would stave off the rain. Water had already soaked through his trousers and dripped steadily from the brim of his hat. Hunkering into the upturned collar of his jacket he ducked his head and turned. The cutting bite of the wind made him gasp. He felt the baby jerk against him. Whether in response to the icy wind or his own sudden gulp of air, he could not be sure. But, he was pleased to note, her hands and feet no longer felt like small blocks of ice against his skin. Now if he could just avoid smothering her in his attempt to keep her warm and dry all would be good.

"You just ride easy, little one," he said softly, knowing full well she could not hear him over the wind. "We'll be home soon. And then you'll be warm. And dry. And fed." He felt Hermosa wiggle again and he chuckled, which made her shift her tiny feet against him as she responded to the vibration of his voice. "Well, if my talking makes you feel better, I guess I can talk. What would you like hear about? Should I tell you about Lancer and the people there? You're one of us now." _Part of Lancer's extended family,_ he thought. "Or maybe you would like a story. A Christmas story. How about 'Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro' the house, Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care…'"

As he rode Scott kept up a slow steady monologue. He felt the child settle against him. Could just feel the slow rise and fall of her breathing. She was finally warm and asleep. More than could be said for him. The only dry part of his body was his seat and the front of his jacket. So far the woolen blanket was keeping the water at bay. But his legs and arms were icy and his fingers were beginning to go numb with the cold. It would be at least two hours until he reached the hill overlooking the estancia. Another hour until he was sitting in front of that warm fire sipping Teresa's coffee. He urged his mount to a slightly quicker walk, allowing the animal to pick the easiest path along the muddy road. He needed to focus on his goal, on staying alert despite the numbing cold. He knew how dangerous the combination of rain, wind and cold could be. He had seen soldiers succumb as they lay on the battlefield. He had to stay awake. He had to get Hermosa home. Wrapping the blanket more closely around them he began to tell Hermosa the story of the first Boston Christmas he could actually remember, as much to keep himself alert as to comfort her. This would be his first Lancer Christmas. And he had every intention of being there to enjoy it.

~000~


	2. Chapter 2

~000~

Murdock knew he could not see beyond the courtyard, not nearly far enough to see Scott riding down the long road leading to the hacienda. Still, he peered past the reflection of his own face into the night beyond the glass panes of the tall windows in his study. Scott should be home at any minute. He had been telling himself that for the past two hours. But he could not assuage the fear that had crept into his heart. The fear he felt when one of his sons was late returning from wherever they had ventured. It was not a logical fear but he had come to understand it as a paternal reaction deep in his gut, not in his brain.

Outside the window the steady rhythm of rain against the cobbled court and the glass was no longer the sound of raindrops but a seamless torrent. Across the courtyard he could see the blurry glow of lamplight from the quarters the married vaquero's shared with their spouses and children. Teresa and Maria had spent most of the late afternoon and early evening with Salina who had gone into labor. Shortly after dark, when Teresa had come to the house for more clean sheets, her face had been pale and grim. When it had become apparent that the young woman's labor was not progressing well Murdoch had sent two riders to fetch Doc Jenkins. Murdoch had complete faith in the doctor. He had seen the man perform more than one miracle. He hoped Lancer would only require one miracle tonight and that it would not be needed by his eldest son.

As he stared into the misery that was the weather, he heard the front door open and close. There was a rustle of oilcloth, and the stamp of boots before Johnny appeared in the doorway of the great room. Inwardly, Murdoch sighed with relief. At least his youngest was once again safely home, but Johnny shifted restlessly from one foot to the other as though he were the bearer of bad tidings. There was a dejected slump to his shoulders. Murdoch had not asked his younger son to go in search of his brother. He did not need too. He knew why Johnny had disappeared when Scott failed to return by the evening meal.

"How far?" Murdoch asked.

Johnny glanced down at his feet then looked up at his father, an almost defiant expression on his face. "Far enough not to see him."

"I'm not accusing you of not going far enough," Murdoch said quickly. "I'm glad you came back." Though, Murdoch was honestly surprised Johnny had come home without his brother. Even a blind man could see the bonds of loyalty and love growing between his two sons. If there had been any chance of finding Scott in the night and the weather, Johnny would not have given up.

As if sensing Murdoch's thought, Johnny straightened, his air cautiously defensive. "There's no way to track in this." He nodded his head towards the water streaming down the window behind his father.

Johnny had moved to the liquor cabinet, removed two glasses and a bottle of Scotch. Nudging the cabinet closed with his elbow, the younger Lancer crossed to the large oaken desk that dominated the northern end of the room and set the two glasses down on its polished surface. He proceeded to pour a generous amount of Scotch into each glass. Murdoch was well aware of Johnny's preference for tequila and his dislike of Scotch, so he wondered at his son's choice.

Johnny raised his glass slightly. "He'll be back," he said then tossed back most of what he had poured into his glass. Only the slightest twitch of his lips belied his true feelings for the drink. "He's probably holed up in one of the line shacks waitin' for this weather to break." Johnny said again with complete confidence.

Murdoch wondered who Johnny meant to reassure with his words. Taking a more appreciative sip of the liquor, savoring the smooth blend, he waited for the proverbial 'other shoe' as Johnny downed the last of his drink and set the glass back on the desk.

"You know how the varmints can get into those northern shacks and tear 'em up. Scott probably spent the afternoon ironing the curtains and making sure everything was perfect."

Murdoch smiled. He could almost envision Scott painstakingly making sure each item was accounted for and in its appropriate place, ready for the next person to use the shelter.

Nodding his head in agreement, Murdoch sincerely hoped that was the case. As he did so he heard a distinctive change in the sound of the storm. There was a clatter against the windows as though someone had thrown a handful of glass beads against its surface. Turning back to the windows behind his desk Murdoch's heart sunk. Tiny pellets were striking the window, and the clear glass slowly glazed over with a sheet of ice. He glanced back at Johnny. They both knew this was not good if Scott was still riding exposed to the weather.

~000~

An hour later, Murdoch sat in front of the fireplace still nursing the same glass of Scotch while staring into the fire and trying to ignore the endless rhythmic ticking of the clock in the corner of the room. He was startled from his morose reverie by someone pounding on the front door. Johnny had opened the door before Murdoch could even respond. There was an excited, rapid fire exchange of Spanish then Johnny shouted for him before bolting out the door.

As he reached the open doorway his heart surged with relief even as his stomach knotted in alarm. "Scott." Murdoch's voice was snatched by a gust of wind.

Scott sat like a frozen sentinel on a frozen horse. Ice had crusted the blanket he had over his shoulders, his hat, pants and boots were covered with a sheen of ice. His horse's mane was coated as well and only the animal's heat and movement had kept ice from forming on its body. Johnny was shouting orders and three vaqueros were immediately at his side taking the animals in hand, one holding Scott's horse steady as Johnny helped his brother to dismount. Scott practically fell into Johnny's arms, the ice cracking from his clothes as he straightened his legs and attempted to move towards the house.

As they helped him through the front door and into the light and heat, Murdoch was appalled by the pallor of his son's face and the blue tinge of his lips. Scott's hands remained in front of him as though still gripping the reins. He shuffle stepped on feet he could probably barely feel, if at all. At that moment Teresa burst through the front door.

"Scott!" she exclaimed. "Oh, my God. What happened? How long was he out in this storm?"

"We don't know yet," Murdoch answered.

His normally cool and collected ward had already endured a grueling day. He would forgive her anxiety. "Is Doc Jenkins still with Salina?" Murdoch asked in carefully measured tones.

Teresa's face suddenly fell and Murdoch could see unshed tears in her eyes. "We just finished. It didn't go well. The baby is alive but weak, and Doc says Salina can never have any more children or she'll die. _If_ she can even get pregnant." The words came out in one breathless rush.

Murdoch was saddened by the news, but knew there was a new and immediate need for the doctor. "I'm sorry to ask you to go out in the weather again, but could you please tell Doc we need him in the house if he can get away."

Pulling her shawl up over her head, Teresa turned without a word and ran back into the storm.

Scott mumbled something Murdoch could not understand.

"Say again, Scott."

"Baby."

 _Damn,_ Murdoch wished his son had not heard Teresa's report. Scott had been generous in taking over Alexandro's task. Murdoch did not want him burdened by the new family's unfortunate news.

"Salina's baby is in the best of hands," Murdoch said. "The doctor needs to look at you. We need to get you warm, then we can talk about it if you want."

"Baby," Scott said again. This time his voice was stronger and more insistent.

Behind them the front door opened and closed once again. A cold blast of wind driven ice and rain followed the doctor and Teresa into the room.

The doctor took over immediately, issuing rapid commands to all of them.

"We need to get these wet clothes off of him. Get him into bed and cover him with warm blankets. I'll check his hands and feet for frostbite. If the warm blankets don't bring his body temperature up we'll have to submerge him in a lukewarm bath. Teresa if you would start warming blankets by the fire. Jelly fill a tub. Remember keep the water barely warm to the touch. We don't want to burn him. Johnny, Murdoch help me get him up to his room."

"Wait," Scott's teeth had begun to chatter violently. He struggled to remove the blanket that had begun to melt leaving puddles on the entryway floor. "Baby"

They all stood in open mouthed consternation as the front of Scott's jacket suddenly let out a boisterous if distraught cry.

Johnny was the first to gather his wits, and he laughed. "Brother, have you done gotten yourself pregnant?" he said with relieved delight.

Scott was shivering too hard to glare as Johnny tore open the front of his jacket to reveal a tiny, very red, very angry mouth screaming to high heaven. The doctor gently lifted the naked infant who continued to squall and handed her to Teresa who, eyes wide with astonishment, quickly wrapped her in one of the blankets she had just brought. Murdoch could almost hear the barrage of questions the young girl wanted to ask. There would be time for that later. Scott let out a visible sigh as he was relieved of his burden and, leaning heavily on Johnny, allowed himself to be led upstairs.

Murdoch stared dumbly at is departing sons for a moment before he could move. Johnny's laughter echoed behind him. "Sure glad you could make it home in time for Christmas, Boston. Don't know what you been doin' the last two days, brother. But I can't wait to hear the story."

~000~

Scott burrowed deeper into the warmth of the blankets and quilts. The down pillows surrounded his head so only the very top was uncovered. He was warm. Never again would he take being warm for granted. The watery sunlight seeping through the slight opening between the drawn curtains told him it was early morning. He had been awake for at least half an hour, but he was reluctant to leave the comfort of his nest of coverings.

Since he had fully awoken, he had been trying to remember the events of the previous day. Most were quite clear in his mind, but the last frigidly cold hour was hazy. All he truly remembered was the battle to stay seated and upright in his saddle. Only the sway of the animal beneath him, and the warm core of heat from the baby bundled next to him had kept him conscious. He had a responsibility to that tiny life and he had no intention of relinquishing his hold on reality as long as she depended on him. He did not remember the final ride towards the hacienda, crossing under the arch, or even coming to a halt in the fore courtyard. Hands had helped him from his horse and supported him into the house, while excited voices swirled around him. Only after his family relieved him of his precious cargo had he blissfully slipped into oblivion. His brother and father had peeled off his icy clothing and the last thing he remembered was being buried under the weight of blankets warmed by the fire. Afterwards, he was vaguely aware of the doctor gently examining his hands and feet, the tips of his ears and his nose for signs of frostbite. Even though the blankets had long since cooled, he nestled in the comfort of their weight as they trapped his own body heat.

A gentle rapping at his door roused him from a semi-slumber. He mumbled something that might have sounded like 'enter', but even to his own ears his voice sounded garbled with sleep. He heard the door slowly open and smelled the wonderful aroma of hot coffee as a tray was set on the table next to his bed. Footsteps softly crossed the room and opened the curtains wide then returned to his side and a gentle hand shook his shoulders.

"Time to get up, sleepyhead," Teresa said.

Then he heard the door close again behind her.

Scott would have preferred to remain exactly where he was, but the lure of coffee was too hard to resist. He sat up, somewhat surprised at how achy and drained the simple action made him feel. He reached for the coffee pot and poured himself a generous cup, then cradled it in his hands, inhaling the steamy fragrance. He sat like that for several minutes until there was another soft knock at his door.

"Come in," he said, with more clarity.

The door opened and Teresa entered, this time bearing a bundle in her arms. "You have a visitor. Someone I thought you might like to see." Teresa was beaming as she held the newest little addition to the Lancer family. She swayed slowly back and forth as Hermosa slept in her arms. She leaned over far enough for Scott to see the face of the sleeping baby. "She's beautiful," Teresa added.

Scott smiled. "She is. Like her mother." He felt a frown erase his smile. "Her parents. I left them," Scott said, a heavy feeling in the pit if his stomach. "I shouldn't have just left them."

"If you hadn't neither you nor Hermosa would have gotten home. It may feel wrong, but you did the right thing." Teresa reached out to lay a hand on his arm. "As soon as Murdoch figured out what you were rambling about and the weather broke, he sent Johnny and some of the men up into the hills to recover them. They'll be buried here," Teresa said softly.

Scott sighed and settled back into the pillows propped behind his back. The guilt of abandoning Hermosa's parents was one feeling he was grateful to have lifted.

"You saved each other you know?" Teresa looked down at the baby girl in her arms. "Doc said she was probably just enough extra heat to keep your body warm. And you her."

Scott could tell there was something else Teresa wanted to say, and he patiently waited for her to speak her mind.

Teresa cleared her throat. "Salina had a difficult delivery."

Scott nodded. He remembered Teresa's tearful words to Murdoch. One of the few things he did clearly recall after he returned home.

"They can never have any more children and they always wanted a big family. Salina's baby is getting stronger by the hour and Salina has plenty of milk to feed two. Alexandro and Salina would gladly adopt Hermosa if there is no one else. They wanted to ask your permission."

"I think her parents would be happy she was getting such a good home." Scott honestly felt that way, but he still felt a hint of sadness. "Her mother's name was Evita. Her father was Mateo. If she ever asks."

"She will know her true parent's names. And she'll know she is loved by her adoptive parents too. They also wanted to ask if you'd be her Godfather when she's baptized."

"Tell them I would be honored."

Teresa's smile was radiant. "Would you like to hold her? Now that you are both warm, dry and clean."

Scott nodded sitting up and setting his coffee aside. Teresa sat carefully on the edge of the bed and passed the baby to him just as Murdoch and Johnny entered the room. Johnny was still grinning and Murdoch was also smiling.

"In case you haven't noticed, Scott, you've slept well over 24 hours," Murdoch said. "Maria has breakfast waiting if you feel up to coming downstairs."

Scott continued to study the tiny life he held gingerly in his arms, glancing up for only a moment to see Murdoch's approving nod.

"So," Murdoch said leaning over to run one large finger over the baby's soft downy hair, "it will be Christmas in a week. Do we call this a Christmas miracle?"

Scott nodded. _You are a miracle indeed, Hermosa,_ he thought. _To have survived the accident, and the long, cold ride home. You are a small miracle._

"Come on, brother," Johnny said, "Don't know about you but I'm starved. And we might better eat while she's still sound asleep.

"If she sleeps long enough for all of us to eat it'll be _another_ miracle," said Teresa laughing.

Still cradling Hermosa gently in his arms, Scott smiled. _One day before too long,_ he thought, _I'm going to tell you about our first Christmas at Lancer_. _And you will be the star of that story. But for now, please just sleep long enough for us all to eat, because for once, I think I'm hungrier than my brother._

end


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